


sleeping with you

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14671713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which a coat is shared and love is found.





	sleeping with you

He is lamenting his decision once again.

It would not be the second time nor the fourth nor the sixth. He has lost count. What he knows is that going on an adventure isn’t like what he has read in the numerous books he owns. Even the harrowing tales seemed too unreal at the time but now he knows what it means to be in one of them.

Mad wizards, angry dwarves, hungry orcs and mangy wargs. It doesn’t matter what any of the books said… Bilbo’s own journey is far too real for his liking.

Nighttime weather also has him miffed. Many of the perils on their journey and Bilbo’s own intimately personal brushes with death aside, it seems the cold is out to kill him as well. When they first set off from the Shire, the days were warming and the nights were pleasantly cool but now that they are further north, even this night on what should be a hot evening back home is shockingly cold. He sits as close to the fire as he can but his thin, fraying blanket doesn’t help keep his backside warm.

And the closer he gets to the fire, the closer he gets to the dwarves’ rough snoring and while he has been with them for a while now, he is still not used to such rumblings.

Bilbo curls into a ball and squeezes his eyes shut, shivering, and tries to count sheep, something his father used to swear on. It doesn’t work and he keeps getting lost in his own thoughts, thinking of his warm bed and hearth back home and perhaps… perhaps Thorin Oakenshield has been right to dismiss him all along. He is not made for adventures. He is made for cooking honey-baked hams and drinking tea from his mother’s china set and napping in his father’s armchair with a book on his lap.

That’s home, that’s where he belongs.

He never should have come. No matter what flowery words and prettily painted pictures of adventure Gandalf had fed him, he is utterly alone and growing more miserable by the day.

His eyes sting and he presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth in hopes of keeping any tears that might try to escape at bay. He can only imagine what the dwarves would say then.

Time moves slowly but Bilbo’s exhaustion has to catch up at some point and finally, in the late hours of the night, he begins to drift into a fitful sleep.

But a warmth covers him from shoulder to feet and he smells campfire smoke, pine, leather and oil and while these are not the smells of the Shire they are comforting enough to send him into a deep sleep, one of which he does not awake from until Bofur shakes him from slumber at dawn.

Bilbo slogs through the day with not much but his own thoughts to accompany him and his sore feet. He sees the efforts some of the dwarves make to include him in conversations and jokes but he has a hard time smiling. Gandalf takes to riding by his side and while they mostly sit in silence Bilbo finds it is the most at ease he has felt since he ran out of his door. Perhaps Gandalf cannot protect him from the worst but he is the closest thing Bilbo has to the Shire and he embraces the company even if it means being short with the younger dwarves who wish to engage him in conversation.

He knows he is pulling away and he knows Gandalf looks at him with worry on his brow but he cannot help it. He misses home.

Separating himself from the others does give him a unique view of the company. He watches their movements and listens to their conversations and begins to learn more about dwarves. They are a secretive people but he can piece together the types of lives they live, so different from his own, and what they consider important and what they consider trivial. There is a certain love and respect between them all that Bilbo envies and he knows he is doing himself a disservice by keeping himself away from them but he fears becoming friendly for many reasons, some of which are silly, which he knows, and some of which are frightening.

Although he loves the Shire, Bag End, his family and friends, he has been spurned too many times to forget the sting.

And even if he did become friendly with the dwarves… it would still not get him into the good graces of Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin is a mystery to him. He understands that he is a king, a dwarf to be respected, that he is beloved by the company and held in the highest regard. Bilbo might not have lived his life but he can also understand his longing for home, his longing for something that was taken from him.

But he does not understand Thorin as a person.

So he observes him. He watches the way Thorin rides at the front but still looks back often to do a head count and ensure no one has gone missing, that they are there, safe and sound. Bilbo watches the way Thorin scolds Fili and Kili in one moment and teaches them something about their weapons or the wilderness or tells them stories of their ancestors in the next. He sees the way that Thorin smiles, a small thing but there nonetheless, when Balin or Dwalin talk about the might that was once Erebor. He sees the longing in his eyes and the pride in his shoulders.

Bilbo also sees the way Thorin looks at him. Often it is with disdain and annoyance which are voiced often enough as well but sometimes it is with something… different.

He would call it concern and curiosity on anyone else. But with the biting remarks thrown his way when he so much as winces from the pain in his rump from riding, well, it cannot be those things. He cannot put a name to what lingers in Thorin’s eyes when he thinks that Bilbo is not looking.

Sometimes he does look back when he gathers up his courage but Thorin doesn’t seem abashed to be caught staring. He merely looks at Bilbo until Bilbo must avert his eyes lest he feel anymore exposed to Thorin’s gaze.

He goes to bed cold and falls asleep warm but it is not until he nearly plunges to his doom in the Misty Mountains that he realizes why. When Thorin rescues him, he smells smoke and pine and leather and oil, he smells _Thorin_ and is taken back to every moment just before he drifts into sleep when those scents envelop him in a cozy cocoon.

Bilbo wonders how many times he has fallen asleep with Thorin’s coat tucked around him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, for his rescue and for more but Thorin merely glares and storms away, disappearing into the cave.

The goblins and the creature named Gollum are nearly his ending but with the help of a golden ring he escapes with his life and meets with the company in time to hear Thorin berate his very existence on the quest and finds a bit of courage to tell Thorin why he came along to begin with.

Thorin looks at him, his blue eyes not as hard, not as callous, and his lips pursed as if he is holding back in what he wishes to say. But he stares at Bilbo and Bilbo stares back until there are orcs and wargs and eagles and Thorin’s eyes close and don’t open again for far too long a time.

When at last Gandalf uses his magic to revive Thorin, the words that he says bite into Bilbo, bite into his very heart but then there are strong arms wrapped around him and Bilbo is enveloped in everything that is Thorin and feels his heart sing and soar.

That night they rest at the bottom of the Carrock and it is just as cold as every other night but Bilbo only pretends to sleep although his shivering is entirely real. He waits until the dwarves begin to snore and Gandalf begins to murmur in his sleep before he hears the sounds of footsteps, purposefully light but not as silent as their owner means to be.

A heavy warmth drapes over him but before Thorin can walk away, Bilbo reaches out and catches his trouser leg, opening his eyes and looking up at Thorin.

Thorin looks taken aback, the most Bilbo has ever seen and he opens his mouth before closing it again. He looks like a deer caught in the sightline of a wolf and Bilbo cannot help but smile.

“Thank you, Thorin. Do you not need it yourself?”

Thorin doesn’t say anything. He merely stares at Bilbo until his eyes soften and he smiles faintly. “Dwarves are forges of their own,” he says, his voice pitched low.

Bilbo smiles back. “Hmm, yes, I suppose you are. Hobbits aren’t quite made for cold nights.”

“Hobbits are not made for many things.”

Bilbo feels his heart clench and furrows his brow. “Well… no. But I rather think I’ve proven a thing or two.”

“I did not mean any offense,” Thorin says with a frown. “You have proven yourself many times over. Hobbits may not be made for many things but you have shown they are adaptable.”

“Hobbits were once wanderers, you know,” Bilbo says and smiles when Thorin raises an eyebrow. “Many thousands of years ago. We wandered until we found rolling green hills and made them our homes. We adapted to good food, good ale and warm beds. I’m afraid we haven’t adapted much beyond that.”

“There is at least one adventurer among hobbits,” Thorin says, sounding amused. “I thank Mahal that he was chosen to be here.”

It flusters Bilbo. “Thank Gandalf,” he says dryly. “If not for that meddling wizard, I would be enjoying good food, good ale and my own warm bed.”

“If not for you, I would be dead.”

“Well,” Bilbo says, running his fingers along the fur of Thorin’s coat. “Well.”

Thorin watches Bilbo with the same curiosity that confused him before. He wonders if perhaps Thorin has observed him to learn of hobbits much the same way he has observed dwarves. It makes his belly tighten and his heart flutter and he does everything he can to hold Thorin’s gaze.

“Go to sleep, Master Baggins,” Thorin says and inclines his head. “We all deserve rest this night.”

And then he’s gone. Bilbo watches his retreating back and rests his head on the ball that is his best dinner coat. He finds his eyes growing heavier by the second and finally closes them, drifting into an easy sleep with a deep, rumbling voice in his ears.

So their journey goes. Bilbo makes friends with the dwarves and no longer rides in the back of the pack. He jokes with Fili and Kili, plays cards with Bofur and Nori, learns how to swing his sword properly from Dwalin and on the rare occasion, Thorin himself.

With Thorin’s hands holding his arms and the warmth of his chest at Bilbo’s back, well, no one can blame him for his sweaty palms.

The orcs catch up sooner than they expect and they make haste to a house that belongs to the bear chasing them, who is a skin-changer and who has already attempted to kill them. Many honey cakes and roasted vegetables later, they are all more at ease. There are hot baths for everyone and fragrant, comfortable beds of hay and Bilbo is relieved to find some solace in the wide world. Thorin is still injured and Beorn promises to keep them safe until they are to leave.

With the massive, roaring fire pit in the middle of Beorn’s home, Bilbo suspects he will not be cold this night and decides not to question why he feels so put out by it. He thinks that the answer will only frighten him and does what he does best… ignores it.

And though it is cozy in the house and his nest of hay and Bilbo is finally warmed to his bones, drifting to sleep, he smells things that have become wanted and he feels a pressure against his back and pressed against his belly and sleeps until Bofur informs him he has nearly missed breakfast. Thorin’s coat is missing as it always is by the time Bilbo wakes but he feels bereft of a different presence even if he can’t name it.

No one really wants to leave Beorn’s safe haven but they must if they are to make it to Erebor by Durin’s Day. They arrive at the forest where Gandalf leaves them with ominous warnings and soon enough they learn why. Rations dwindle and glowing eyes gleam in the darkness of the trees and Bilbo suspects the only reason he sleeps is because of the solid presence covering him and pressed against his back every night, a warm arm draped over him.

The elves come and Bilbo is invisible even to their sharp eyes and comes to learn that not all of them are as friendly and welcoming as those in Rivendell. He must free his friends, he knows, but sleep is nearly impossible to come by while he doesn’t know where Thorin is. He sneaks into the armory and knows he cannot take any weapons but he finds Thorin’s coat and nestles in it in dark corners but it hardly helps. There is something missing. He begins to feel as if he is wasting away.

It is only when he finds Thorin that some part of him begins to feel whole again.

He watches Thorin, who sits in the corner on his small cot and does not seem to ever sleep himself. Bilbo waits until he has figured out the guards’ rotations before he reveals himself to Thorin, who clutches at Bilbo like he is a lifeline as he explains how he is there.

“You need to sleep, Thorin,” Bilbo says quietly, holding Thorin’s arms just as tightly.

“I cannot rest in this place,” Thorin says and sounds too close to _broken_ for Bilbo’s heart to handle.

“You must, Thorin. If I’m to find a way to escape, we won’t get anywhere if you can’t make the journey.”

“I will make it,” Thorin says, a hard edge to his tone. “I cannot sleep because I am… missing something.”

Bilbo’s heart jumps and he remains quiet. His breathing is shallow and uneven and he is utterly exhausted. He doesn’t think he can handle much more of this. But for now, he has Thorin. “What are you missing?”

“I think that you know.”

Bilbo huffs, reaching into his coat, fingering the ring in his pocket. “If I bring you your coat, they’ll know there is an intruder.”

“It is not like you to play coy.”

“Then you hardly know me, Master Oakenshield.”

“I know you,” Thorin says, something desperate in his tone. “You are my burglar. You are quick witted and clever enough to frustrate me. You are light on your feet and use this to your advantage, even in the Shire, when you wish not to be bothered by family. You can make cram taste better than it has any right to and you can lighten any mood by reciting your poems and telling stories from your childhood. You complain endlessly but you are braver than any of us and have shown your quality many times over. You are talented at driving me mad,” he says with a breathy laugh. “But I have come to enjoy that madness. You are my hobbit.”

Bilbo watches Thorin’s sincere blue eyes surrounded by black circles and feels his heart pounding in his chest. It is making little leaps every few seconds and his blood is thrumming through his veins and there is something bubbling in his stomach. Something that feels too much like love.

“I suppose you have gone mad,” Bilbo says, something to fill in the silence his own shock has made. The brightness of Thorin’s eyes dim and Bilbo hastily says, “But I quite like it.”

Thorin begins to smile, a glorious thing, and though he looks far too starved and deprived of his pride, he is beautiful and Bilbo wonders how it came to be that he ever lived his life without Thorin Oakenshield.

Bilbo begins to hear faint conversing and looks behind him in alarm. “The guards are nearly here.”

“Your ring,” Thorin murmurs, reaching down to squeeze Bilbo’s wrist. “Go.”

Bilbo slips his ring on and flattens himself against the wall just as the guards turn the corner. They come to inspect Thorin’s cell and sneer at him from where he is sitting on his cot, glaring at them.

“Do you not wish to speak with my king?” one of the guards asks.

Thorin says nothing.

“Then perhaps one meal a day will change your mind.”

The guards open the cell and throw a plate of gruel, soggy vegetables and a hard hunk of bread into it, where it lands roughly on the ground. They leave without any further words.

Thorin stands and steps closer to the bars, holding onto them. “Bilbo?” he whispers when the guards’ footsteps have retreated.

Bilbo takes off his ring. “Here,” he says from his place inside the cell and smiles when Thorin whirls around, looking at him with shock. “Rather easy to slip by.”

“You will be caught,” Thorin says, approaching Bilbo and resting his hands over his shoulders.

“Not with this,” Bilbo says, holding his ring up before he slips it safely back into his pocket. “I thought that we might catch up on a bit of sleep, you see.”

Thorin smiles and leans down to press his forehead to Bilbo’s. They remain that way until Thorin begins to lean too heavily against Bilbo and he helps him onto the cot until he is lying down, a space in front of him just big enough to hold Bilbo.

He hesitates but Thorin’s eyes are half closed and he is staring at Bilbo with a gentle look. Thorin lifts his hand and Bilbo takes it, slipping onto the cot and lying down, his back pressed to Thorin’s chest. Once Thorin’s arm wraps securely around him, Bilbo slips the ring on.

“Best to take all precautions.”

“It is strange to not see you,” Thorin says, his breath warm against the back of Bilbo’s neck. “Soon we will leave this place and you will not need it again.”

“Let’s hope not,” Bilbo says, patting Thorin’s hand. “Go to sleep.”

Thorin does just that and his gentle snoring guides Bilbo into a deep rest of his own.

It takes time but they do escape Mirkwood and get to Lake-town and Erebor. There are far too many dangers between them all and Bilbo counts them all lucky to have survived it. There are other things to survive in Erebor, one of which takes Thorin from Bilbo and he must watch him descend into real madness until he cannot stand it and makes a bargain of his own. Thorin may hate him afterward and may never hold him again but Bilbo must save his life. He must.

War comes and war ends and nearly takes Thorin Oakenshield completely from Bilbo. By some miracle he survives the night and begins to ask for Bilbo, who is tempted to run and hide. But he has come too far for that.

Thorin looks too pale to be healthy and is wrapped in a swath of bandages but his eyes fall on Bilbo when he enters the tent and there is no mistaking the relief in them.

“Bilbo.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo breathes, stepping close to his bedside and trying not to think about how fragile Thorin looks in this moment. “Thorin, I’m… I’m very sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Thorin says, his voice weak. “I am the one who should apologize for all that I have done to you. I am so sorry, Bilbo.”

“You were ill,” Bilbo says, touching Thorin’s shoulder, worried for his cold skin. “I know that’s not who you are.”

Thorin sighs shakily. “You know me,” he whispers, lifting his hand and brushing his fingertips along Bilbo’s cheek.

“Of course I do. You are Thorin Oakenshield, the most maddening dwarf in all of Middle Earth. Too proud, too stubborn, too much of everything, really. And as brave and kind and good as anyone I’ve ever known. And the only reason I can sleep soundly at night.”

Thorin is smiling by the time he is done speaking and cups Bilbo’s cheek. “Sleep with me.”

Bilbo frowns, looking at Thorin’s torso and his injuries. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can never hurt me,” Thorin says and reaches down to take Bilbo’s hand, pulling him closer.

“I’m going to tell Oin it was your idea,” Bilbo says and climbs onto Thorin’s bed, careful not to jostle him much. He wraps his arm around Thorin’s, holding it to his chest and feels his eyes sting. He does all he can to hold his tears in and nuzzles into Thorin’s shoulder. “You best be here when I wake again.”

“I only wish to sleep, my hobbit, not eternally rest.”

“Yes, well. If you do that, I’ll be going to the Halls just to bring you back.”

“I do not doubt that you could. Sleep, Bilbo.”

And so he does that night at Thorin’s side and every night after until he breathes his last.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not my best but I really needed to write something to cheer me up after a bad week. If you enjoyed it at all, please leave kudos. Thank you!
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> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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